Moll opened her eyes. This, for a beginning, was not at all the sort of thing she had expected.
“What discord, if you please?” said she.
“Tut-tut!” answered his Highness, hardly smiling. “Is not that a very unnecessary question? We have not got eyes for nothing, ears for nothing, intelligence for nothing. If the form of discord need not be specified, it need none the less be understood. I will speak plainly, however, and to this effect. Your position in a certain quarter of Whitehall Palace is not, by whomsoever franked, a desirable one. It constitutes, in short, a scandal to the place, and an insult to one who is forced, against her will, to condone it.”
Moll rose to her feet, her eyes sparkling.
“Why?” she said.
“There is no need, nor desire on my part,” said the Duke coldly, “to go into particulars. It is enough that the situation I have hinted at must terminate.”
And this was all—this the sole reason for which she had been trapped and beguiled into this interview with the great person? It appeared so, and Mrs. Davis had nothing for it but to bear her disappointment and chagrin with what philosophy she could.
And on the whole she bore them amiably. After all, Moll’s philosophy fished in large waters, and if she failed in a catch, she was always ready without complaint to rebait her hook and try again. There is a sort of self-complacency in certain beauties which is too serenely un-selfconscious to be called vanity. It is largely founded, I think, on the flawless digestion which generally goes with physical perfection.
“I suppose she has been putting you up to this,” she said, quite coolly. “I call it mean of her, when she knows perfectly well that she is the scandal, and not me. But, I see what it is; she wants to rid herself of a witness she’s done nothing to make a friendly one; and so, being afraid to tell me downright I must go, she hands over the business to the one——”
His Highness put up his hand with such a grim, authoritative expression that the young lady stopped, though with a rebellious gulp.